Isaiah
by Cyrelia J
Summary: Short oneshot. England casts a last minute spell to save the world from nuclear war. This is the aftermath as seen by America. Barely there us/uk. Angst.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters. I'm also not making an money off of this; thus I'm broke as crap.

Isaiah

By Cyrelia J

_All was silent, as if were illusion everything_

_Holy grassland is blowing in the wind now_

_When the sun melts the sea, all fall into sleep_

_Forever…_

_-"Isaiah" Kaizer __Vicious Circle_

He was the only one of them to awaken. When he had he realized that England hadn't failed as they thought he had. The _pika don_ that Japan feared so terribly remained nothing but a memory of the second world war and as America awakened to the fading light of the dying sun he smiled. He hadn't yet realized how alone he was. Humanity had forgotten them. Humanity had forgotten everything in the instant that Arthur's spell had succeeded. They had forgotten how to make war and they had forgotten the language that England had gifted them but somehow he still understood them. And somehow they still looked to him with love not knowing what he was.

At first it was enough.

He had taken to calling the wind Amnesia and wondered why he wasn't similarly affected. It had taken months to walk to Canada only to find his twin encased in crystal like a beautiful butterfly. The white polar bear keeping vigil asked him softly who it was that he was taking. He took his brother to area 51 but Tony had long deserted and he kept him eternal and perfect in his private bunker, unable to penetrate the hateful glass. Matthew's violet eyes stared out at him and he'd taken to speaking to him when the loneliness overtook him. He took to walking the deserted cities pretending he was at the end of the world in the zombie apocalypse. England would have laughed and after awhile, it wasn't fun anymore. The ghosts were all too real.

He had to find the others.

It took him a human lifetime to build an ark.

He no longer craved food; He couldn't even remember the taste of hamburger. He had never really needed to eat so when he set sail for the rest of the world he took nothing but his twin, Kumajiro, and a thousand candles for when the darkness became unbearable.

He recognized the porcelain doll as Japan in an instant where it sat untouched and undisturbed in the old temple. He had never been more thankful for his inhuman strength when he hefted the clay China onto the ark. He thought that South Korea looked lost as he paced through the imaginary world behind the still running functional monitor. The tears froze to his face as he held the _matroushka _Russia in his trembling hand; when he opened him up the former USSR tumbled out. By the time he cradled the still marionettes that were North and South Italy he had forgotten how to pray.

As he held the portraits that were once France and the French collective in the middle of the decayed Louvre he thought that he no longer believed in God. As he beheld the pyramids that stood where all of his mighty empire fell he knew the true gods had abandoned them all. And yet, as he taught the men around the world to farm and build cities he began to believe he was the new God.

He finally found England asleep on a bed of roses surrounded by the sleeping children that were his territories, his chest rising and falling: deathless and ageless.

God wept.

It took him several human lifetimes to erect the mausoleum in what used to be area 51. As civilization rebuilt and explored the world anew some of them joined him and Trinity was reborn into something truly holy. He taught them his language and as they grew old and their children took their place they left him offerings when they realized what he was. He studied every book he could find and taught them about those who slept. They held festivals and prayed to the sleeping gods and yet even as centuries passed none of those enchanted beings awakened. New myths were reborn and a new world was created.

A young girl was the first to call him "America".

There was one who didn't rest with the others and every night America cried on England's chest as he lay next to him, his body always warm, that small peaceful smile on his face. It was that same child- his confidante- who looked at him so seriously and asked if England would awake with a kiss from his true love like the fairy tales he'd told her. America stilled as he watched her wind up the beautiful music box that held Austria playing the piano. He had been so afraid... too afraid to dream anymore. Being her, the clock struck midnight and Prussia popped out of the clock.

And so it was in the three hundredth year of the New American Empire that Alfred F Jones placed his lips to Arthur Kirkland's.

And waited.

And believed.


End file.
